When we got home from our needed-a-vacation-after-that-vacation, there was one thing I wanted.

A grilled cheese sandwich. But not just any grilled cheese.

I wanted my grilled cheese, especially having suffered through 4 burned ones at the Sheraton Kona (and trust me, it was the only palatable thing on the menu).

Sri watched Rho as I popped across the street to our corner store. I picked up the last loaf of sourdough (not required, but highly recommended), a package of sliced sharp cheddar cheese, and a handful of jalapeños.

You know. The important things.

Standing over a stove is the last thing I want after 20 hours of traveling. But the chopping of the peppers, the spreading of mayo and mustard on the bread, and the flipping of the sandwich was exactly what I needed.